Conversations With Dead People. Part 2.
A while ago - ok, 3 years ago, I wrote this - Conversations With Dead People. (The title comes from the seventh episode of the seventh season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.) It is set in The Returnverse, and is simply an ongoing conversation between Spike, from Buffy, and Maedhros from The Silmarillion, who are both resident in Mandos Halls.
I always felt there should be a second part, but time passed, and it only really began to take shape in my mind in the past few weeks. And here is is -
Conversations With Dead People. Part 2.
“And has it ever occurred to you, Spike, to listen to those words of yours?”
Maedhros’ question took Spike by surprise. So much so that, although he opened his mouth as if to say something, he simply shut it again, and remained silent.
“You have told me about how you came to be here, in Mandos Halls, in my world. It had not occurred to me before that there could be other worlds…”
He paused briefly as Spike muttered “You want your world with or without shrimp?” but chose not to be distracted.
Instead he continued, “but you have told me that the young woman, that you knew in your world, is the ancient Key from this world whose role it was, and is, to lock, or unlock, ways between worlds. And so the existence of many worlds is not unknown here…”
He paused and looked questioningly at the ceiling above them, where they both pictured either Lord Námo, Cambasion, or another of the Maia, listening. The silence remained unbroken.
“I wonder if my grandfather or my father knew of this?” He thought for a minute then added “Perhaps as well that I do not think my father did, or he would surely have added the other worlds to his oath.”
Spike smiled.
“And the young woman has said that, having spent time living in both worlds, she does not think they are different planets but, rather, different versions within the same physical space. What was the phrase you used to describe what separates us? ‘Time and relative dimensions in space’?”
He wondered why Spike was trying to suppress a laugh at this point. He was pretty sure he had remembered the phrase correctly.
“Which leads me to wonder whether the One who we learn created the world created the worlds, in the plural, or is he not actually One all powerful, but one of many, each for a different version?”
“Whoa! We are getting into deep philosophy here, Maedhros, mate,” Spike answered.
“It is relevant to my question, though.”
“Which question?”
“Why you do not seem to listen to the reasons you give for me to feel that I have balanced the kin-slaying and the swearing of the oath, by fighting against Morgoth, and apply them to yourself.”
There was another long pause. Spike answered, eventually. “I am going to have to think about both questions for a while mate. I mean I guess we could just ask His Lordship about the oneness of the almighty….”
Another silence.
He continued, “But I guess he wants us to figure it out. Or maybe he’s never thought to ask, eh?
“So, yeah, I need to think about it. But don’t go just yet - fancy a pizza? Pepperoni deep crust? And send it in the box, guys, I don’t feel like knives, forks and a side salad right now!”
There was a soft ‘thunk’ and a large flat box, made out of the thick paper-like fabric that Spike called ‘cardboard’, dropped gently onto the table.
‘If I ever do leave here,’ Maedhros thought, ‘I am going to have to experiment with making pizza…’
………………..
Spike was contemplating food. He had been contemplating theology but right now he was contemplating food. More specifically the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him; he had wondered about kedgeree, but decided to leave that for another time. He was, though, definitely going to have freshly buttered toast with marmalade when he finished the bacon and eggs.
It was the breakfast of his youth, although he had decided against feeling as though he was eating it in the formal breakfast room of his parents’ house. Thoughts of his mother were still difficult even though he knew those final memories were demonic. He must ask Maedhros about his mother sometime; he had mainly focused on his father.
He thought about the taste of the bacon; salty, savoury. In some ways he could be happy staying here in this non-place for ever; he was pretty sure that, if he left it to live in the world outside, it would be difficult to get a pizza delivered, or hear all his favourite music as if he shared his room with a smart speaker. And, after years as a vampire, it was a genuine pleasure to actually taste food properly.
Even foods he had only ever eaten as a vampire now tasted… well properly tasty. It had occurred to him, at some point after he arrived here, that if foodstuffs were completely produced from his memory the ‘modern’ stuff should be bland and tasteless, despite knowing that it should have more flavour than he had ever experienced. But he was pretty sure that they actually tasted as they would have done to Buffy and others.
Goodness knows how much time he had spent experimenting by asking for different things, and trying to decide if they tasted right, before he had asked Cambasion about it over a glass of coke one night.
“His Lordship knows everything about your time sharing your hröa with the demon, and realised that your memory of tastes of that time was muted, but you craved the reality of those flavours,” he said. “And as long as you know what the ingredients were we can do the equivalent of creating the dish from scratch.
“Pizza for example; a yeast dough with a layer of cooked tomato, oregano, cheeses whose texture you know, then the elements that added extra flavour; the ones you chose because even your damaged hröa could get a muffled sense of them. We simply took that muffled sense and amplified it.” He smiled.
“We do have hot peppers, and spices, in our world and so it was possible to even work out how muffled your taste-buds had been. This has helped us to create other things, such as this beverage. It has been an interesting task and I, for one, have enjoyed these new dishes a great deal.”
There were, however, limits to the pleasures available and staying here for all eternity might get boring after a while. Maedhros told him that he had, on occasions, sought out his brothers, or comrades who had fought and fallen at his side. Spike wondered if that had included any females and if it meant you could still have a good shag or, what was it Dawnie had called it? Being ‘swayed by the desires of the body’. Maedhros had answered that there were certainly ellyth here; some had been reunited by death with their partners, but he was not aware of anyone joining with another, neither male nor female.
At least that last phrase had given Spike something to ponder for a while as it occurred to him that Maedhros had been somewhat diffident, when asked about his own partner at one point, saying only that he had not been formally wed. He must ask him, sometime, about how the elves saw gay relationships just to see what his reaction was.
Actually, Spike realised that he really had no great urge for sex anyway, probably because this body wasn’t really as solid as it looked and felt, it was probably the same for everyone here, hence Maedhros’ comment that no-one ‘joined’. But he did envy Maedhros being able to talk over shared memories with others. He missed being able to reminisce about things with people who were there, or even just discussing old television programmes, or books they might have both read.
He couldn’t even re-watch or re-read anything; a screen showing what he could remember of an old film or TV programme actually was a possibility - but it would only be what he remembered and, he had to admit, he was not word perfect nor could he remember everything visually even from a single episode of something. And books; there was no point in asking for a fondly remembered book because, again, all there was to go on was what he remembered of it himself. He had asked, once, for a copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare as he thought that might keep him going for a while, only for Lord Námo himself to explain that it was possible to reproduce the cover that Spike remembered, but inside it would be mainly blank.
It was, probably, only quite recently that it occurred to him to ask if he could have copies of books from this world to read. That request had been met with nods of approval, the sort you got from nanny, or your tutor, when you asked a clever question or gave a good answer. He really was not sure whether the books he now owned had been translated into English and written in the Latin alphabet, or if he was reading the actual Elvish in the original script, just as he was not really sure exactly how he conversed with Maedhros, or anyone else here, just that he did.
The books were mainly histories; the elves didn’t seem big on fiction, and he was glad that he had learnt some of this stuff from Maedhros, who had actually been there and given him first-hand accounts, as he had a feeling that some of these written accounts might be rather biased. Maybe, sometime, he would ask if he could have books written by the men, or the dwarves, or the little guys Niblet had mentioned… hobbits.
But in the meantime he was back to the questions of theology. He asked for a copy of the elves Holy Book; well, that of the Noldorin Elves, as he did know there were different elvish races, just as there were different human ones back home and they almost all had different scripture. Except that Cambasion explained that there was no Holy Book, no written scripture. That was a bit of a bugger.
He thought of asking for a copy of The Bible, but it would only have the cover and then a lot of blank pages with the odd sentence here and there that he remembered. However, he thought he might remember enough relevant stuff, although it would have been more useful if he could confirm the accuracy of those memories, and there was something similar in this world for comparison.
Presumably there was no Holy Writ here because the Valar seemed a bit more ‘hands-on’ than the angels and archangels, not to mention the mysterious Powers-that-be, of Earth.
He pondered the idea of ‘Earth’. Giles had once said that it was likely that almost every sentient life form regarded its home plane or planet as ‘Earth’ with a capital E, although, he had admitted, that might simply be the way it was always translated. Spike was sure that, both when Radagast had cast his spell on that memorable occasion back in the past*, and when he spoke to those around him here, the word they used was always Arda even though everything else was always in English, at least to his ears. Too late to ever be able to point that out to Giles, now.
He was, he thought, getting very efficient at procrastinating.
He shook himself. He had notepaper, ink and a pen (good thing that he had learnt to write as a Victorian schoolboy, he had thought, when he first asked for such a thing and received a nib pen and ink well), and decided he needed to get his thoughts onto paper before further discussion with Maedhros.
*In ‘Return of The Key’ and ‘You Gotta Have Faith’.
…………………………………..
“How is your unusual guest?” Manwë asked, not for the first time. “Do you feel the time will come when he leaves your halls, brother? Or might you keep your word that he might fulfil his promise to look after Tindómë ‘until the end of the world’ only by releasing him to fight at her side at the Dagor Dagorlath?”
“He is well,” Námo answered. “I do not see him as a danger to Aman should I release him. But he is still coming to terms with the things that happened in the other world and, to be honest, he is also most helpful in helping Nelyafinwë Maitimo come to terms with his life as well. Although currently they are discussing theology.”
Manwë nodded but did not say anything.
Námo sipped his wine and then continued. “Vairë can see his thread beginning to weave into the fabric of time. Although, she tells me, it may not be in quite the way that our Key expects. Of course she cannot tell me more, in case I say or do anything to affect the future because I know what is woven. But what she sees appears to please her rather than otherwise.”
“Well that is good to know,” his brother said, with a slight smile, and the conversation moved to other things.
…………………………………..
This time they were in Maedhros’ space. Spike was never sure if there were defined walls as such or whether, beyond the lit area, there was nothing, or something undefined. But this was certainly Maedhros’ space. The chairs were elegantly fashioned from metal, padded with deeply coloured velvets, and there was a matching table with a glass top, where they currently sat eating some sort of game pie with roasted vegetables, accompanied by a very good red wine in beautiful glasses.
“So, friend Spike, what do we think? One God over all dimensions, or one god per dimension?”
Spike was hoping they had come to the same conclusion, and was tempted to say “You first!” But decided not to.
“One, I think. Because I prefer not to think of an ultimate being who is not necessarily ultimate, and tells lies.”
“I concur,” said his host. “As it is clear that Morgoth knew there were other worlds, as did the rest of the Valar.”
He paused, but if Lord Námo was around he wasn’t letting on.
“Otherwise there would have been no need for The Key. And, if the Valar knew of the other worlds, so must The One. And, like you, I prefer to think he was not lying!”
“I thought for a while about why you felt it is important that when we were told there is only One it was true,” Spike said, slowly. “I wonder if I have come to the right conclusion. In my world there is written scripture - I was taught it was dictated by God to his prophets. And if it’s the same God then I can see the rules applying in both places.”
Maedhros nodded.
“So you feel as if you can never be forgiven by the Valar, your family, Elvenkind in general, because you did what is described in our scripture as ‘Taking the name of the Lord in vain’?”
“I am not sure,” Maedhros answered, “that it is purely a matter of forgiveness. You did not make such an oath and so you should accept that, despite not being in full command of your own hröa, you fought against Morgoth and his minions in your world and have nothing to be guilty about, even though you will probably always have regrets.
“But I swore that oath; even if, as you have pointed out, the wording may have been less precise than is commonly believed, I do remember it including Eru’s name, and pursuing the silmarils until the end of time. And if Eru did not lie, and he is the same God no matter which world we are from, then it remains true that such an oath is binding, which is why we should never take The Name in vain.
“And so it is not safe for me to leave this place, nor my brothers who swore the same oath, for we would have to pursue the quest and cause bloodshed in Aman, for we know Eärendil has a silmaril. And we would be forced, by the oath, to also try to recover the one my brother threw into the sea, and determine whether the one I tried to destroy in the fiery pit still exists…”
Spike said nothing for some time as he considered his answer. He had thought more about Maedhros feeling that his behaviour was unforgiveable because of the bloodshed caused by that oath, and the ‘sin’ of swearing it in the first place, than about possible ramifications if Maedhros were to leave Mandos.
He knew a little about Eärendil. He remembered Niblet being amused at the idea that her friends, those black-haired twins, believing that their grandfather was a star in the sky, sailing a ship with a fancy, light-up, jewel on his head. But when Maedhros had told him about the silmarils, he had confirmed that there was definitely some truth in this; the jewel was in the possession of the twins’ grandfather, and the Valar were happy with that.
“Okay,” he said after a while. “I’m with you now, mate. I can see where you are coming from - I mean I can understand why you feel you are carrying too big a burden to feel as if you can be ‘born again’ or whatever the phrase is. And your brothers…?”
“I am the eldest and pursued the quest longest of all who are here, despite knowing it had been wrong to take such an oath. They have accepted my reasoning and agree, for the sake of those who we would be compelled to fight, that we must remain here.”
Spike looked deeply into the wine glass. As the contents caught the light he was reminded of blood. Blood drunk from a similar glass, from a mug, on Weetabix… or straight from the neck of the victim, still pulsing out until their heart realised the situation was hopeless. And yet Maedhros believed he, Spike, should be free to go and live in the outside world, see the stars, feel the sun, see Dawnie… but not himself.
Tough one.
Fortunately, here, there was no sense of time or urgency and so he may have been considering the problem for only minutes or it may have been a week - who knew? But eventually he pulled his thoughts together.
“Two things Maedhros. I was taught that ‘God forgives all those who truly repent’. I’m not sure if he would be forgiving you for making the oath, or for breaking it if you stopped chasing the shiny things, but I can remember something like ‘You are forgiven, go and sin no more.’ I reckon you obviously repent and so it should be fine for you to promise, or make an oath without using God’s name, to give up the pursuit without any casting into the outer darkness or whatever.
“And if God is willing to let bygones be bygones, as they say, The Valar can hardly complain; they can just reconsider their Doom statement.”
Although Maedhros didn’t look much happier at this, he did seem to be taking it seriously.
“And the second thing…”
“I thought those were the two things,” he interjected.
“Nope. Just one of them. So - the second thing. The well thought out and poetic version of the oath mentions, what was it… whoever “hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril…’
“Even if the spur of the moment wording was similar it wouldn’t include yourselves, would it? Once you have taken possession of one of your Dad’s shiny things you can do what you like with it? So you and your brother had two of them and then ‘in hand tooketh’ and ‘afar casted’ them. Your decision as one of Fëanor’s kin, absolutely your right, and so those two are out of the game. Yeah?”
Maedhros looked quite shocked at this interpretation. He was clearly turning it over in his mind.
“Yes,” he finally said. “We decided their fate when we did those things. I think you are right. Even if the Valar know those silmarils to still be intact somewhere, we have given them the right to decide their ultimate fate!”
Not unexpectedly there was no reply from whoever was watching and listening, but they would know, immediately, that Nelyafinwë Maitimo of the House of Fëanor had accepted that he no longer had to pursue those two, even if he still felt duty bound to keep his oath.
“Still on the second thing,” Spike continued, “If I understand both you and the things I’ve read correctly, the guy who has the third one doesn’t spend all his time floating about in the upper atmosphere but has a home somewhere, yes?”
“Ye…s.”
“Right. And if you got hold of the one he has, you could choose what to do with it as well?”
“Yes. If Lord Námo decided my brothers and I were able to leave, I would be the most senior member of my house alive. And the oath did say the rightful owners were the house of Fëanor, not purely my father himself.”
“S’easy then, mate.” He paused for effect.
“You explain the problem to Starman, and ask if he will give it to you, either physically or metaphorically, and you then hand it back to him freely as a gift. Job done.”
Maedhros looked stunned. And speechless.
Somewhere inside his head Spike heard the voice of Lord Námo. “In your own words, bloody hell! That would certainly mean the oath was fulfilled. I leave you to decide for yourselves whether repentance leads to forgiveness… but I think you know the answer in your hearts.”
(Disclaimer as part 1.)
If anyone is still reading the Returnverse stories here comments would be very much appreciated!
I will post it to TtH over the next couple of days, and then parts 1 & 2 at AO3.
I always felt there should be a second part, but time passed, and it only really began to take shape in my mind in the past few weeks. And here is is -
Conversations With Dead People. Part 2.
“And has it ever occurred to you, Spike, to listen to those words of yours?”
Maedhros’ question took Spike by surprise. So much so that, although he opened his mouth as if to say something, he simply shut it again, and remained silent.
“You have told me about how you came to be here, in Mandos Halls, in my world. It had not occurred to me before that there could be other worlds…”
He paused briefly as Spike muttered “You want your world with or without shrimp?” but chose not to be distracted.
Instead he continued, “but you have told me that the young woman, that you knew in your world, is the ancient Key from this world whose role it was, and is, to lock, or unlock, ways between worlds. And so the existence of many worlds is not unknown here…”
He paused and looked questioningly at the ceiling above them, where they both pictured either Lord Námo, Cambasion, or another of the Maia, listening. The silence remained unbroken.
“I wonder if my grandfather or my father knew of this?” He thought for a minute then added “Perhaps as well that I do not think my father did, or he would surely have added the other worlds to his oath.”
Spike smiled.
“And the young woman has said that, having spent time living in both worlds, she does not think they are different planets but, rather, different versions within the same physical space. What was the phrase you used to describe what separates us? ‘Time and relative dimensions in space’?”
He wondered why Spike was trying to suppress a laugh at this point. He was pretty sure he had remembered the phrase correctly.
“Which leads me to wonder whether the One who we learn created the world created the worlds, in the plural, or is he not actually One all powerful, but one of many, each for a different version?”
“Whoa! We are getting into deep philosophy here, Maedhros, mate,” Spike answered.
“It is relevant to my question, though.”
“Which question?”
“Why you do not seem to listen to the reasons you give for me to feel that I have balanced the kin-slaying and the swearing of the oath, by fighting against Morgoth, and apply them to yourself.”
There was another long pause. Spike answered, eventually. “I am going to have to think about both questions for a while mate. I mean I guess we could just ask His Lordship about the oneness of the almighty….”
Another silence.
He continued, “But I guess he wants us to figure it out. Or maybe he’s never thought to ask, eh?
“So, yeah, I need to think about it. But don’t go just yet - fancy a pizza? Pepperoni deep crust? And send it in the box, guys, I don’t feel like knives, forks and a side salad right now!”
There was a soft ‘thunk’ and a large flat box, made out of the thick paper-like fabric that Spike called ‘cardboard’, dropped gently onto the table.
‘If I ever do leave here,’ Maedhros thought, ‘I am going to have to experiment with making pizza…’
………………..
Spike was contemplating food. He had been contemplating theology but right now he was contemplating food. More specifically the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him; he had wondered about kedgeree, but decided to leave that for another time. He was, though, definitely going to have freshly buttered toast with marmalade when he finished the bacon and eggs.
It was the breakfast of his youth, although he had decided against feeling as though he was eating it in the formal breakfast room of his parents’ house. Thoughts of his mother were still difficult even though he knew those final memories were demonic. He must ask Maedhros about his mother sometime; he had mainly focused on his father.
He thought about the taste of the bacon; salty, savoury. In some ways he could be happy staying here in this non-place for ever; he was pretty sure that, if he left it to live in the world outside, it would be difficult to get a pizza delivered, or hear all his favourite music as if he shared his room with a smart speaker. And, after years as a vampire, it was a genuine pleasure to actually taste food properly.
Even foods he had only ever eaten as a vampire now tasted… well properly tasty. It had occurred to him, at some point after he arrived here, that if foodstuffs were completely produced from his memory the ‘modern’ stuff should be bland and tasteless, despite knowing that it should have more flavour than he had ever experienced. But he was pretty sure that they actually tasted as they would have done to Buffy and others.
Goodness knows how much time he had spent experimenting by asking for different things, and trying to decide if they tasted right, before he had asked Cambasion about it over a glass of coke one night.
“His Lordship knows everything about your time sharing your hröa with the demon, and realised that your memory of tastes of that time was muted, but you craved the reality of those flavours,” he said. “And as long as you know what the ingredients were we can do the equivalent of creating the dish from scratch.
“Pizza for example; a yeast dough with a layer of cooked tomato, oregano, cheeses whose texture you know, then the elements that added extra flavour; the ones you chose because even your damaged hröa could get a muffled sense of them. We simply took that muffled sense and amplified it.” He smiled.
“We do have hot peppers, and spices, in our world and so it was possible to even work out how muffled your taste-buds had been. This has helped us to create other things, such as this beverage. It has been an interesting task and I, for one, have enjoyed these new dishes a great deal.”
There were, however, limits to the pleasures available and staying here for all eternity might get boring after a while. Maedhros told him that he had, on occasions, sought out his brothers, or comrades who had fought and fallen at his side. Spike wondered if that had included any females and if it meant you could still have a good shag or, what was it Dawnie had called it? Being ‘swayed by the desires of the body’. Maedhros had answered that there were certainly ellyth here; some had been reunited by death with their partners, but he was not aware of anyone joining with another, neither male nor female.
At least that last phrase had given Spike something to ponder for a while as it occurred to him that Maedhros had been somewhat diffident, when asked about his own partner at one point, saying only that he had not been formally wed. He must ask him, sometime, about how the elves saw gay relationships just to see what his reaction was.
Actually, Spike realised that he really had no great urge for sex anyway, probably because this body wasn’t really as solid as it looked and felt, it was probably the same for everyone here, hence Maedhros’ comment that no-one ‘joined’. But he did envy Maedhros being able to talk over shared memories with others. He missed being able to reminisce about things with people who were there, or even just discussing old television programmes, or books they might have both read.
He couldn’t even re-watch or re-read anything; a screen showing what he could remember of an old film or TV programme actually was a possibility - but it would only be what he remembered and, he had to admit, he was not word perfect nor could he remember everything visually even from a single episode of something. And books; there was no point in asking for a fondly remembered book because, again, all there was to go on was what he remembered of it himself. He had asked, once, for a copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare as he thought that might keep him going for a while, only for Lord Námo himself to explain that it was possible to reproduce the cover that Spike remembered, but inside it would be mainly blank.
It was, probably, only quite recently that it occurred to him to ask if he could have copies of books from this world to read. That request had been met with nods of approval, the sort you got from nanny, or your tutor, when you asked a clever question or gave a good answer. He really was not sure whether the books he now owned had been translated into English and written in the Latin alphabet, or if he was reading the actual Elvish in the original script, just as he was not really sure exactly how he conversed with Maedhros, or anyone else here, just that he did.
The books were mainly histories; the elves didn’t seem big on fiction, and he was glad that he had learnt some of this stuff from Maedhros, who had actually been there and given him first-hand accounts, as he had a feeling that some of these written accounts might be rather biased. Maybe, sometime, he would ask if he could have books written by the men, or the dwarves, or the little guys Niblet had mentioned… hobbits.
But in the meantime he was back to the questions of theology. He asked for a copy of the elves Holy Book; well, that of the Noldorin Elves, as he did know there were different elvish races, just as there were different human ones back home and they almost all had different scripture. Except that Cambasion explained that there was no Holy Book, no written scripture. That was a bit of a bugger.
He thought of asking for a copy of The Bible, but it would only have the cover and then a lot of blank pages with the odd sentence here and there that he remembered. However, he thought he might remember enough relevant stuff, although it would have been more useful if he could confirm the accuracy of those memories, and there was something similar in this world for comparison.
Presumably there was no Holy Writ here because the Valar seemed a bit more ‘hands-on’ than the angels and archangels, not to mention the mysterious Powers-that-be, of Earth.
He pondered the idea of ‘Earth’. Giles had once said that it was likely that almost every sentient life form regarded its home plane or planet as ‘Earth’ with a capital E, although, he had admitted, that might simply be the way it was always translated. Spike was sure that, both when Radagast had cast his spell on that memorable occasion back in the past*, and when he spoke to those around him here, the word they used was always Arda even though everything else was always in English, at least to his ears. Too late to ever be able to point that out to Giles, now.
He was, he thought, getting very efficient at procrastinating.
He shook himself. He had notepaper, ink and a pen (good thing that he had learnt to write as a Victorian schoolboy, he had thought, when he first asked for such a thing and received a nib pen and ink well), and decided he needed to get his thoughts onto paper before further discussion with Maedhros.
*In ‘Return of The Key’ and ‘You Gotta Have Faith’.
…………………………………..
“How is your unusual guest?” Manwë asked, not for the first time. “Do you feel the time will come when he leaves your halls, brother? Or might you keep your word that he might fulfil his promise to look after Tindómë ‘until the end of the world’ only by releasing him to fight at her side at the Dagor Dagorlath?”
“He is well,” Námo answered. “I do not see him as a danger to Aman should I release him. But he is still coming to terms with the things that happened in the other world and, to be honest, he is also most helpful in helping Nelyafinwë Maitimo come to terms with his life as well. Although currently they are discussing theology.”
Manwë nodded but did not say anything.
Námo sipped his wine and then continued. “Vairë can see his thread beginning to weave into the fabric of time. Although, she tells me, it may not be in quite the way that our Key expects. Of course she cannot tell me more, in case I say or do anything to affect the future because I know what is woven. But what she sees appears to please her rather than otherwise.”
“Well that is good to know,” his brother said, with a slight smile, and the conversation moved to other things.
…………………………………..
This time they were in Maedhros’ space. Spike was never sure if there were defined walls as such or whether, beyond the lit area, there was nothing, or something undefined. But this was certainly Maedhros’ space. The chairs were elegantly fashioned from metal, padded with deeply coloured velvets, and there was a matching table with a glass top, where they currently sat eating some sort of game pie with roasted vegetables, accompanied by a very good red wine in beautiful glasses.
“So, friend Spike, what do we think? One God over all dimensions, or one god per dimension?”
Spike was hoping they had come to the same conclusion, and was tempted to say “You first!” But decided not to.
“One, I think. Because I prefer not to think of an ultimate being who is not necessarily ultimate, and tells lies.”
“I concur,” said his host. “As it is clear that Morgoth knew there were other worlds, as did the rest of the Valar.”
He paused, but if Lord Námo was around he wasn’t letting on.
“Otherwise there would have been no need for The Key. And, if the Valar knew of the other worlds, so must The One. And, like you, I prefer to think he was not lying!”
“I thought for a while about why you felt it is important that when we were told there is only One it was true,” Spike said, slowly. “I wonder if I have come to the right conclusion. In my world there is written scripture - I was taught it was dictated by God to his prophets. And if it’s the same God then I can see the rules applying in both places.”
Maedhros nodded.
“So you feel as if you can never be forgiven by the Valar, your family, Elvenkind in general, because you did what is described in our scripture as ‘Taking the name of the Lord in vain’?”
“I am not sure,” Maedhros answered, “that it is purely a matter of forgiveness. You did not make such an oath and so you should accept that, despite not being in full command of your own hröa, you fought against Morgoth and his minions in your world and have nothing to be guilty about, even though you will probably always have regrets.
“But I swore that oath; even if, as you have pointed out, the wording may have been less precise than is commonly believed, I do remember it including Eru’s name, and pursuing the silmarils until the end of time. And if Eru did not lie, and he is the same God no matter which world we are from, then it remains true that such an oath is binding, which is why we should never take The Name in vain.
“And so it is not safe for me to leave this place, nor my brothers who swore the same oath, for we would have to pursue the quest and cause bloodshed in Aman, for we know Eärendil has a silmaril. And we would be forced, by the oath, to also try to recover the one my brother threw into the sea, and determine whether the one I tried to destroy in the fiery pit still exists…”
Spike said nothing for some time as he considered his answer. He had thought more about Maedhros feeling that his behaviour was unforgiveable because of the bloodshed caused by that oath, and the ‘sin’ of swearing it in the first place, than about possible ramifications if Maedhros were to leave Mandos.
He knew a little about Eärendil. He remembered Niblet being amused at the idea that her friends, those black-haired twins, believing that their grandfather was a star in the sky, sailing a ship with a fancy, light-up, jewel on his head. But when Maedhros had told him about the silmarils, he had confirmed that there was definitely some truth in this; the jewel was in the possession of the twins’ grandfather, and the Valar were happy with that.
“Okay,” he said after a while. “I’m with you now, mate. I can see where you are coming from - I mean I can understand why you feel you are carrying too big a burden to feel as if you can be ‘born again’ or whatever the phrase is. And your brothers…?”
“I am the eldest and pursued the quest longest of all who are here, despite knowing it had been wrong to take such an oath. They have accepted my reasoning and agree, for the sake of those who we would be compelled to fight, that we must remain here.”
Spike looked deeply into the wine glass. As the contents caught the light he was reminded of blood. Blood drunk from a similar glass, from a mug, on Weetabix… or straight from the neck of the victim, still pulsing out until their heart realised the situation was hopeless. And yet Maedhros believed he, Spike, should be free to go and live in the outside world, see the stars, feel the sun, see Dawnie… but not himself.
Tough one.
Fortunately, here, there was no sense of time or urgency and so he may have been considering the problem for only minutes or it may have been a week - who knew? But eventually he pulled his thoughts together.
“Two things Maedhros. I was taught that ‘God forgives all those who truly repent’. I’m not sure if he would be forgiving you for making the oath, or for breaking it if you stopped chasing the shiny things, but I can remember something like ‘You are forgiven, go and sin no more.’ I reckon you obviously repent and so it should be fine for you to promise, or make an oath without using God’s name, to give up the pursuit without any casting into the outer darkness or whatever.
“And if God is willing to let bygones be bygones, as they say, The Valar can hardly complain; they can just reconsider their Doom statement.”
Although Maedhros didn’t look much happier at this, he did seem to be taking it seriously.
“And the second thing…”
“I thought those were the two things,” he interjected.
“Nope. Just one of them. So - the second thing. The well thought out and poetic version of the oath mentions, what was it… whoever “hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril…’
“Even if the spur of the moment wording was similar it wouldn’t include yourselves, would it? Once you have taken possession of one of your Dad’s shiny things you can do what you like with it? So you and your brother had two of them and then ‘in hand tooketh’ and ‘afar casted’ them. Your decision as one of Fëanor’s kin, absolutely your right, and so those two are out of the game. Yeah?”
Maedhros looked quite shocked at this interpretation. He was clearly turning it over in his mind.
“Yes,” he finally said. “We decided their fate when we did those things. I think you are right. Even if the Valar know those silmarils to still be intact somewhere, we have given them the right to decide their ultimate fate!”
Not unexpectedly there was no reply from whoever was watching and listening, but they would know, immediately, that Nelyafinwë Maitimo of the House of Fëanor had accepted that he no longer had to pursue those two, even if he still felt duty bound to keep his oath.
“Still on the second thing,” Spike continued, “If I understand both you and the things I’ve read correctly, the guy who has the third one doesn’t spend all his time floating about in the upper atmosphere but has a home somewhere, yes?”
“Ye…s.”
“Right. And if you got hold of the one he has, you could choose what to do with it as well?”
“Yes. If Lord Námo decided my brothers and I were able to leave, I would be the most senior member of my house alive. And the oath did say the rightful owners were the house of Fëanor, not purely my father himself.”
“S’easy then, mate.” He paused for effect.
“You explain the problem to Starman, and ask if he will give it to you, either physically or metaphorically, and you then hand it back to him freely as a gift. Job done.”
Maedhros looked stunned. And speechless.
Somewhere inside his head Spike heard the voice of Lord Námo. “In your own words, bloody hell! That would certainly mean the oath was fulfilled. I leave you to decide for yourselves whether repentance leads to forgiveness… but I think you know the answer in your hearts.”
(Disclaimer as part 1.)
If anyone is still reading the Returnverse stories here comments would be very much appreciated!
I will post it to TtH over the next couple of days, and then parts 1 & 2 at AO3.